“What about blood moles?”

“Not a single one of my clients has ever developed them, so you can put that out of your mind,” Sebastian said. It was true. Blood moles—tiny red sores that developed all over the body, in hivelike clusters, usually on the face and chest and inside the mouth, sinuses, and anus—had been the telltale sign of a major and deadly autoimmune disorder caused by a chemotherapy drug that was now off the market. Those early blood seekers who had wanted to look beautiful and extend their lives and thwart disease had their blood platelet counts drop so low, they were at risk of hemorrhaging. These people had to undergo, ironically, chemotherapy—massive “shock and awe” rounds to try to escape death.

Most didn’t.

Sebastian took a sip of his coffee. “What you will experience over the next few days is what many clients refer to as a rebirth. Your senses will feel as though they were, say, rebooted. Colors will seem particularly intense, as will tastes. You’ll be very sensitive to sounds and touch. Are you married?”

“God no.”

“Seeing anyone? Involved in a serious relationship? I ask because a good majority of my clients report heightened and sometimes intense sexual arousal during the first month. Nothing to be alarmed about, but we tell clients so they can inform their partner or partners. Clients who are single—we urge them not to put themselves in situations for the first month or so where they may engage in, say, sexual conduct that they may later regret.

“Now,” Sebastian said, “the physical benefits—the tightening of skin and firmer muscle tone, thicker hair and more energy. Those will be noticeable in about fifteen days. Your sleep will improve, too. Of course, a lot of this depends on your lifestyle choices—exercise, diet, what have you. You smoke?”

“No.”

“Great. Booze?”

“A glass of wine every now and then.”

“Nothing wrong with that. We urge our clients to live healthy and active lives in order to gain the maximum benefits of Pandora. If you do that—and judging by how well you take care of yourself, I don’t see that as being a problem—then you can get your next treatment in, say, five or six months. If you start smoking or pounding back bottles of wine, if you develop some disease, then we urge clients to get quarterly transfusions.”

“And if I decide not to get another transfusion?”

“You will go through withdrawal. It will feel like the world’s worst flu. Not life-threatening, mind you, but extremely unpleasant. Do you have any other questions?”

“The blood I’m getting . . .”

“It’s the best on the market,” he said. “That’s why we have such a long waiting list. We harvest the blood on the morning of a transfusion so it’s fresh. No chemicals or preservatives.”

“I want to know about the—you know, the donors.”

“What would you like to know?”

“You treat them well?”

Sebastian had assumed her anxiety had to do with fear of dying or her fear of aging gracefully into a woman who was no longer admired for her radiant youth, beauty, and sexuality. Or, as Maya had suggested, maybe she was simply a narcissist. Sebastian didn’t peg her as the type to have a crisis of conscience.